When my company moved from its office in the city back to where it all began—the lower level of my boss's home on the edge of a small town—I was unhappy about becoming a commuter. Over time I've come to enjoy the quiet of this rural area. One thing I can't get accustomed to is the hens. They're dumber 'n bricks.
Each time I go out to stretch my legs, catch a breath of fresh air, and look for birds, butterflies, and dragonflies, they come running out of the coop and wait along the fence. They track my every move. I have never fed them and yet every time they hear the office door open, they flee the coop into their open pen, hang out along the fence, watch me, and wait with a look of hope in their otherwise dull eyes. It's almost as though they believe one of these days, I'll head over without my camera and sprinkle some appropriate food for them to nosh. Hope, like their other well-conditioned responses, remains eternal.
Tomorrow's prompt is: Wheels. The NASCAR haulers don't roll in until July. Woe is me.
NOTE: Yesterday I neglected to mention that there is a new bridge being built to replace the Memorial Bridge. The Departments of Transportation of New Hampshire, Maine, and the US will all share the cost. The original cost to repair: $59.1M. The cost to build a new bridge: $81.4M. Not only is it going to cost more, we lost a piece of history. That's what I hate most of all.